


I’m a hunter

by Griffinous56



Category: Monster Hunter (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29959944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griffinous56/pseuds/Griffinous56
Summary: And I must hunt.Or in which occurs an unfortunate encounter between a hunter and the Greatest Jagras.





	I’m a hunter

I’m a hunter and I must hunt.

The wind coming from the sea is chilly as of late, as opposed to its usual cool breeze during the day. Winter is coming; the moment when the weather is too cold for our kind to walk under the father sky. It means I have to find more food for my pack lest we starve this eve. Dry branches and leaves are crushed under my feet as I slid down the familiar pathway hidden under shades of old oak trees; toward a clearing of narrow streams and forlorn forest cloaked in orange hue of twilight, a familiar hunting ground which has been under several generations of us Great jagras and will remain be for many seasons to come. Some moons ago, a Rathalos was here, dared to claim this place at its territory, that vile thing. Those same moons ago, I fought it, heedless of its fierce breath eating away my hide as I drove my body twice its size against its ribs. I fought, and I won, ever the alpha of my pack, of my lair, as that wyvern fled before it became my next meal. 

Because I am a hunter, and a hunter protects their pack.

Since then, not many other large creatures dare to venture here, least they face my wrath. But food is getting scarce for new things appeared, foreign and different from what I know or remember, as they ravaged this land for their hunger, from a vicious purple bird that seeth and hiss when I encountered it for the first time to a large black wyvern with eyes flashing red, always sticking to high branches. The hunting ground is getting narrower as time goes by and before I realize it, we jagras had been driven away, forced to retreat to small caverns underground; away from the loving shade of the great mother forest that has house us jagras for generations. My pack is the one Jarga pack that still lives proudly under the trees among the new predators disturbing our world.

Because I am a hunter and this forest is my home.

My tongue tastes the air and I scent blood, a familiar growl erupts from the back of my throat as I sprint toward the source as a primal instinct grips my being. Good predators don’t let their blood flows freely or get caught in the air least alerts their potential competitors. Flesh blood means food, an easy prey that’s been injured; and that alone is a blessing in itself in these trying times.

I am a hunter, and being a hunter means one takes every opportunity one has.

But being a hunter, one should be cautious and prepared above all else.

The scent of blood smells flesh, tainting the wind with a delicious smell of metal most human wield. But it’s different somehow, different from the sweet scent of chewy Kelbi and Aptonoth or those tough Kestodon. It smells like…

I follow the smell to a hollow chasm, covered in moss and wild berry bushes. Cautiously, because that’s the reason why I live so long, I lower myself to a crouch, slipping between slippery rock and dirt as I approach my target, my prey. A tongue slithers out to taste the air again, the scent of blood gets more potent, sweater and alluring.

A gasp rings out, quickly followed by a quiet whimper. I take a peak, hidden in the greens.

Ah.

That explains the difference in smell.

An old human, cladding in hides of those blasted fire wyverns of the sky, is leaning against a rock by a stream, a contort looks etched on her face. There’s a big bleeding gash across her sweat glistening cheek and her leg, oh her leg, is burned and twisted in a weird angle that I know it shouldn’t be. Dislocated? Broken? She hisses again in frustration, which startles me to back away, as she does her best to wrap up her legs in ragged clothes draw from her coil. The one thing that truly catches my eyes, though, is a beautiful bow with lays on her right, near enough for her to reach. At the moment I lay my eyes on that weapon, everything clicks.

A hunter. Not quite human, but not a monster like me or many others either. 

The old huntress groans and struggles to stand up again with her bow as a cane, breathing rages with every shaky step she makes before collapsing at the edge of the chasm she’s currently in. The scent of blood is growing thicker that I don’t even need to focus on it anymore, seeing how that Huntress is bleeding profusely onto the ground right now. It confuses me. Don’t hunters always carry a bag of supplies with them, contains healing salve made of herbs and mushrooms? But this one lacks the bag it seems, either forget it in the huge site on the edge of the forest or lost it on her way here.

But it doesn’t matter much anymore, because it’s obvious she’s been attacked by a ferocious monster; maybe be more than one, judging by the wounds she bears. I recognize the patch of all so familiar dragon blight burn across her cheek and scorch patch of twisted skin on her legs remains of attacks left by a new species of Tobi Tadachi that I still not familiar with. In the last season, my pack had lost two members to the vipers hidden in trees, writhed in pain that couldn’t be subsidized before dying a painful death. Deep in my heart, I feel sorry for this huntress, just like how sorry I was for those two pack mates.

The huntress is leaning back to an old oak now and I take it as a signal to move forward, head raises high to enjoy the renewed scent of fresh blood. Us Great jagras usually don’t attack a hunter, much less hunt one - too much of a bother, we said to each other, better to take out a docile Aptonoth instead. But this one, oh this one, is so weak that I can easily kill with one swipe of my claw. Human and hunter's flesh are not a foreign concept to me after all, having taken down my fair shares of those two-legs dwellers before in my long life.

Pebbles tumbling and water sloshing with each step I make toward that old huntress. Her eyes closed earlier due to exhaustion, snap open to stare at me, a mix of annoyance and panic clouds her dark orbs. I watch how she tries to reach for her bow, shoulders slumping forward when she shifts into a guarding stance only to fall, whimpering in pain pitifully.

I sit and watch, curiosity gleaming in my eyes as to how familiar that gaze strikes me. A nagging feeling of the possibility of knowing this one puzzles me. I have met many in my life, both monsters and humans alike, but none of them deserve my attention. Yet this one, just this one…

The huntress grunts push herself onto her elbows, her elegant bow somehow makes its way into her grip as she scurries back, presses against a smooth boulder as she watches me in return. Perhaps she sees me as a predator waiting for a chance to pound its prey - if so then she isn’t too far of the mark. Too weak, so easy to kill; my instinct screams at me to attack, to protect my territory, but I push it down. This one is wounded, she won’t go anywhere, not that she can. I won’t need any underhanded tactic to kill such a pathetic thing.

Her face distorted in pain as she bowls to clutch her side, mangled legs curls close as she heaves heavy breath. I see more injuries, a deep claws mark across her shoulder as she let out a word in a tongue I cannot understand.

Yet her eyes haunt me in the most confusing ways. And the bow…

I have seen those eyes before, back when this forest knew peace, back before I became the alpha of my pack. Of a hunting night where I should hunt a grand meal to impress my predecessor, chasing down that one beautiful Aptonoth across the field. That grass gazer thing was a slow one, but it was big, bigger than any prey the predecessor had ever caught before. A fine meal for the pack. 

When I chased it to a meadow, the prey cried out and collapsed out of my sight. Mere lithe jagras that I was fast to catch up, to see if it had stumbled itself, only to pause and slumped in disappointment. Because a hunter was there, her bow rose in the direction of my prey and I could saw an arrow stick out of its neck.

She huffed and turned, and saw me, eyes widen in slight surprise and precautions. None of us did anything for a while, staring at one another to watch out for any sudden attack. And that hunter surprised me when she sheathed the bow and back off. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were hunting it,” She said, voice stiff with awkward spelling that made it obvious she wasn’t used to speaking too much in the tongue she was using. “I’ll leave you and your bounty be now. I’m sorry for interrupting your hunt.”

I was stunted. Never before had I seen a hunter being so respectful to a lowly jagras, let alone spoke to one in such a soft tone. Indeed, she left right after that, but I held off, waiting to see if that hunter truly meant what they said. Once I was sure nobody was coming back, I quickly swallowed that aptonoth and hurried back to our nest. It truly was a magnificent prey, not even one member in our pack missed a meal that night. And that prey alone earned me my respect, from both my predecessor and my pack. And lovers.

Now that huntress has appeared in front of me once again, old and worn from many years has passed, I can’t find myself to strike her down, as weak and fragile as she is, as easy to kill as she is. That hunt was how I got where I am. I own this huntress a favor and so, I won’t hurt her. I slide to a nearby rock and lay down, enjoy few precious sunbeams of the afternoon. I will watch over her for now, I decided, until her kin arrive to pick her up.

Because I am a hunter, and a good hunter never forgets their debt.

The hunter looks at me, confused, but soon decided that I will not hurt her before sliding down herself too, stretching her injured leg as best she can. Minutes pass and the hunter's breathing slows down so much I have to focus to make sure she doesn’t die on me. Fortunately, she’s still alive and somehow has fought off the poison in her veins, no longer sweating bullets but breathing is still labor. It bewildered me, truly, to know how these creatures can survive from such conditions. But hunters, ah, they’ve always been blessed with such a gift, aren’t they? A gift that not many of us monsters have…

A stomp, a growl, and I leap up from my idle spot before I can even blink, my whole body froze in anticipation from pure reflex alone. I turn, hissing at the grotesque jaws and sulking blood-red eyes peering from underneath a tree. So, a Deviljho has caught the hunter’s blood too. Said hunter seems to be unaware of their situation, groaning and clutching at her side with a high pitch whine as if in a feverish dream. Always too loud, those brute wyverns, causing a ruckus everywhere they go, disturbing those on their paths. 

One more step and it’s out of the shade bashes itself in the full glory of jarred scars and horrid breath. The hunter startled and lookup, fears clear in her eyes as she scrambles to get up, and fail. With that look of recognition in those dark eyes, I presume this Deviljho is the cause of her situation.

It’s so close now, close enough my primal instinct screams at me to run, to flee. We Great jagras aren’t meant to fight those devilish wyverns after all. And a hunter doesn’t stand between another hunter and its prey.

But I’m not like any other Great jagras before me and I have a debt to pay.

I slid down my rock and stand before the hunter, my own low growl formed in my throat. That Deviljho doesn’t let up, snapping its toothy maws at me as it approaches, each step cautious and calculating, cunning and arrogant. In over their heads, these scornful creatures. 

Most other apex predators have known by now not to mess with me, the greatest jagras. Too troublesome, they murmur in the trees. Not worth the kill, they whisper the shadows. 

Too dangerous, too risky.

This Deviljho is a tad bit smaller than those I’ve fought, its scars aren’t as profound And gnarled as many others. A juvenile, perhaps? A more experienced one would have a charge in by now, too vicious and full of itself. It roars, its force rustles the trees but I stay steady and unwavering. That scare tactic has no effect on me for quite a long time ago. And so, instead of flinching away and reply with a growl of my own, I slam into its lower head before it can even react. Rows of sharp outward teeth on its lower jaw scratches my skin as we collided, the wounds sting, amplified by its salvia. In return, it yelps out in pain and is knocked off far back, obviously hurt and surprised. Good, because the only thing these wyverns can learn is pain.

The scuffle ends before it even begins. I don’t kill it, far from it, but the way it glares and growls at me from the other side of the chasm with bitter hatred tells me it already knows the result. It looks like it wants to attack again, always vicious like many of its brethren, but hesitate because of my size. I stand my ground, the head holds high to affirm my victory. One more hearty growl is all it takes for that wyvern to ran away, stomping the ground as it does so.

I snort. Maybe I’ve just made an enemy of my own for allowing that young Deviljho to leave in one piece, but at last, I’ve paid my debt. Satisfied, I turn and slide to where I came from.

A weak whimper halts me, makes me look back. That huntress has collapsed again, fat beads of sweat roll on her pall forehead as she releases slow shallow breaths. Her wounds haven’t got any worse, but it also hasn’t got any better either. I’ve paid my debt as a hunter, yet… I can’t find it in me to just leave.

Us Great Jagras’s always respected these man spawn, not only as fellow hunters but also as their role as the forest protector. They only hunt stray Great jagras who went out of line, vicious creatures that harm our beloved forest and the residents within it. We don’t attack hunters, never do, unless it’s to protect ourselves. Even then those hunters who unjustly attack us will be punished by their our laws, to monsters as a whole.

To leave this huntress here all by herself, it’s no different from killing her myself. 

So I slid back to my old position on a rock, nesting my head between my claws. There’s nothing much I can do, but I can protect her from further harm.

Because I’m a hunter, and hunters look out for each other. 

For a while, her breaths are the only sound between us. Sometimes that weak sound stops as the huntress collapses again, ghastly and pale, and has me sprinting to her to check on her. Her skin is cold to my thick hide and in those times, I thought she’d gone for good. And all those time, by some miracles, she recovers, albeit slightly. She’s still shivering so much I think she’s no different than those leaves on their trees. And so I help, nesting her closely to my fat belly just like how I would to those young jagras in my pack. She reminds me of my own pack members, weak and frail. And so I’m ready to share my heat if it means to keep her alive.

Because I’m a hunter, and a prideful hunter never accepts defeat.

Minutes go by, then it’s hours and before we both know it, the moon is already high in the sky, basking the forest in its ethereal light. The huntress's breathing is steady now, sleeping soundly against me. It’s getting more chilly as the night drags on, though, and I’m not sure if this huntress will survive a night. Even if she does, I don’t know if she can even return to her home.

I have hope, just like how this huntress is hoping, that her kind will find her. 

A small rustle from a brush wakes me up from my idle rest, echoes in the peaceful silence of the night. A quiet growl erupts from my chest before I even realized it, waking the huntress from her sleep, alarmed but not of me. Perhaps she hears it too, then.

Something is coming for them. Something that doesn’t want to be seen. I can see it just barely between the tree, a small dark figure in the forest, just a few steps away from where we are. It uneasy me, how something could approach us so close without me noticing it.

A human, I realize, as he steps out into the light, making a steady trek through the dark woods. I glare at it warily when I notice a great sword made of massy bone on his back, ready to attack if he shows so much as slight hostility to either of us. There’s a story of where humans would fight among each other and among the hunters there is no exception, some of which are bloodier than the rest. I cannot rule out the possibility of him attacking this huntress too.

When he’s close enough, just about five meters away, he stops, constantly checking his surroundings before settling his gaze on me, a concerning and fearful look filters his dark eyes for a moment. He cannot see the huntress because of my massive body and that is a good thing in my respective.

But he sees her broken bow, resting at its position at a tree root and his hand hovers atop his sword handle and he starts to circle around. 

“What are you…” that hunter murmurs, trying to circle me. When I let out a warning growl, he unsheathes his massive sword, holding it in front of him as if it would pass for a fine barrier. I want to attack when I sense hostility from him but I hold my wit. His hands are firm and steady as my heart; he’s no coward. 

Suddenly, the huntress peeks out from behind me and asks in a hoarse voice: “F-Field Commander?”

That quiet whisper breaks the deafening spell of confrontation between us. Does the huntress know this man? The other seems hesitant as he risks taking his eyes off me to look for her. “Trist? A-Lister?” 

A relieved sigh filter out shakingly as she slumps against my belly. “Thanks the Sapphire Star it’s you.”

Thanks to the Great Fives that the huntress knows this man. 

“We receive your distress flare from the Dragonseer. How are you faring?” He asks, shifting his stand to inch closer to the huntress, awfully aware of me. I can’t blame him, for many monsters in this forest find me intimidating for my size too. I want to get up and away from the huntress so her brethren can reach her but I stay still, in fear of her collapsing again. 

“Like shit. A Bazlegeus and a Deviljho ambushed me and our squad when we—“ a cough, hoarse and dry, “when we were returning from our quest. Are the others…?”

“Our top hunters are looking for them right now, don’t worry.” The man risks it by approaching me, his sword lays on the ground as he takes out those miraculous green salves, applying to the burning patches of the huntress sweat drenching skin. She hisses at the burn but sighs out in relief soon later, seemingly more comfortable compared to those last torturing hours. 

He quickly reaches for his sword again when I tilt my head, snipping at the forgotten vial on the ground. “No commander. Don’t.” She coughs, pushing his sword's arm away. 

“Do you even aware of what you’re lying on right now?”

“I do, and believe me you don’t want to pick a fight with it.”

“You’re lucky that Great jagras usually aren’t hostile to us hunters. C’mon, let’s get you away from here—.” He argues, wanting to hitch her up by her arm but still concerns about the fresh healing patches. 

“No, you don’t understand, Commander. It saved me.”

He pauses. “It saved you.” He repeats, disbelief mares his words.

“From that same Devijho.” She said, as if not believing it herself. “Maybe it came back to finish the job.”

He glances at me, half curious, half doubtful as he asks: “Why?” I too, wouldn’t believe it either was it one of my kin who retells the story themselves.

“How should I know,” she falls back to my belly. “All it matters is if it wasn’t for it I would’ve died.”

The hunter heaves a deep sigh and I’m surprised to see how amusement tinted his eyes, much like how a brother would look at his sibling for causing yet another shenanigans. “You Fivers and irregular point of views.” He mutters as he does his best to dress the huntress wounds. All the while I lay my head back down between my claws, crooked aside to watch the humans. The hunter, Field Leader apparently, makes short work on the bandages, hands move with practical ease like he’s done this many times before. He probably has.

Once he’s done with bandaging her up, the hunter reaches into one of his many pockets to pull out a small red pouch. “You may not be able to swallow it in your condition right now, but inhale this will do you well still.”

I see her takes in a deep breath before coughing harshly. The hunter’s big hand steady her as she heaves in a long breath, looking surprisingly better than she was mere seconds ago. Even the severe scorching patches of skin have healed up evenly. “Easy now, you don’t want a monster to laugh at you for choking on air now would you.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You’re welcome.”

At that moment I find out what they are. A pack, brothers in arms who lick each other wounds and take shelter from the world in one another comfort. It reminds me of the long-deserted nest where I was nothing but a hatchling, huddling together to share warmth in the rain. I once had a brother looking out for me like this human man right now, when this forest home was lush and green before the festering beasts.

“Alright, let’s get you back to the base. This part of the forest is no medical bay.” The man said, warping the hunter in a green cloak and carefully lifting her into his arms, mindful of her legs. The man gives me a brief nod of acknowledgment but the huntress, she gives me that same one long curious look like the one from that destined night before bows her head. “Thank you, friend.”

The leaves rustle in acknowledgment of her words, carrying them with the brittle branches and winds. The man mumbles something inaudible, his gaze is of a doting brother. A wounded huntress in arms, he makes his way out of the chasm. I stand and see them off before offering a farewell nod of my kind. My mission is completed.

Now, I must return to my hunt.

Stopping when I slide past a boulder, I notice a red pouch that man left behind. Curiousness takes over, I lower myself to sniff at it, wondering what magic it holds for curing many hunters so fast.

The scent is undesirable. Tantalizing sweet but also indescribably sour, brings forth a feeling of freshness like it’s extracted from the purest wellspring. I feel how my weariness is dismissing, energy spent rushing back to my swelling muscles. My feeling of the mother forest is clear, like I’ve been reborn.

I lift my head, being able to distinguish a much more welcome scent. Fresh blood mingles with the huntress’ but I can easily keep track of it as I sprint through the familiar path. A wounded Rathalos with his newly caught prey. Both sound good to my ears. Yes, very good. My heart skips a beat in the excitement.

Because I’m a hunter and I must hunt for my pack tonight.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Then they report there’s a Greatest Jagras and y’all hunt him down for deco _how could you._


End file.
